Page 161 of Three Widows

The floor was covered in bloodstained plastic. The walls were lined with cushions and some sort of packing. Soundproofing? To keep noise contained inside? His darting eyes were drawn to the slumped figure tied to a chair in the corner of the room.

Broken. Bloodied. Silent.

He made for the figure. It was difficult to determine if it was male or female, such was the amount of blood and protruding broken bones. The hair was damp and matted.

Falling to his knees, he listened. A soft, slow breath feathered his face. Alive. A woman. His fingers fumbled with the knots on the thick blue nylon rope. He dared not look at the bloodied face, detaching himself momentarily from the reality of the devastating injuries she had suffered.

A sound reverberated. A door banging. A shout.

He stalled, hands in the midst of the blood-soaked knots.

Garda Lei stumbled into the room.

‘I called it in and… Oh my God,’ Lei exclaimed. ‘What… Oh God. What is this place?’

‘The killer might come back. Keep watch and call an ambulance.’

‘Sure. Sure. Yes. Oh God. What the…’ Lei fumbled with the radio and backed out of the room.

Kirby returned to the knots. He was afraid to look too closely to see if her eyes had yet been removed. He no longer felt her breath. Was she dead?

‘Concentrate,’ he warned himself, his voice quivering.

As he released the knot at the damaged ankles, bones jutting out, the woman groaned, and Kirby held his breath and looked up into the severely battered face.

Orla Keating keeled over, her head cracking against his shoulder.

* * *

It is near the end. They are close. I can smell them as if their investigation was leaving a burning smoke trail. I thought I’d have my work completed before they arrived. But all this running around, trying to be in two places at once, has exhausted me.

But do they know who I am? Why I am doing all this? Will I have to make it crystal clear for them? No, they’ll figure it out. Eventually.

And then realisation dawns on me as I hear the sirens, and cars and ambulances appear on the brow of the hill. It is already too late.

I’ve always been ahead of them. I need to keep it that way.

The one I had to abandon in the house won’t survive, but I mourn the fact of missing out on that death. I glance at my rucksack with the other treacherous eyes swimming in their glass jars. I should have got hers, but time closed in on me. I did what I had to do. And now I have one remaining task. A final person to meet. To tell them that this was all for them.

Then I am done.

I will disappear into the ether, never to be found.

Just like the man that was Tyler Keating.

100

Orla Keating was rushed to hospital with life-threatening injuries and would not be providing information any time soon. So, Lottie divided Damien’s files from Jennifer’s lock-up among the team. There had to be some sort of proof of a killer and their motive within the buff manila folders.

Helena was still missing. Could the sad, damaged young woman be the killer?

McKeown arrived, looking none the worse for Boyd’s punch. She decided to deal with the fallout later.

‘What did you find out about the company established by Tyler Keating?’

‘CAB set up an investigation after a recent tip-off. They discovered the company called Widow Island. It’s linked to a foundation helping children who have lost a parent. Based on what we now know, that’s a crock of shit.’

Flicking through pages in the file open before her, Lottie wondered how Tyler Keating had convinced Damien O’Loughlin to get involved in the corruption. Money and greed, she supposed. Tyler was a part-time lecturer, well able to get his point across. Combining what they’d learned from CAB with what Madelene had said, it seemed the pair had used the foundation to extort funds in the form of property from unsuspecting grieving widows.

---